Hell
by Vashana
Summary: 2+5+2 Duo pines after Wufei, both thinking that they are unworthy of the other. Deathfic, but not bad. Please review!


Title: Hell  
Author: me, Darachangmaxwell (sreyna01@bellarmine.edu)  
Archive: Um....never had to deal with this before. None currently, but if you want it, just let me know.  
Category: Angst, poetic, but not a poem (if that makes sense)  
Pairing: 2+5  
Disclaimer: As much as I would love to have Duo and my 'Fei-'Fei, they do not belong to me. They belong to the rightful owners of the Gundam Wing series, which I believe are Sunrise, Sotsu, and Bandai. I make no money off of this.  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: This is angst and a deathfic. If you don't like that, don't read it.  
Spoiler warning: Makes allusions to Endless Waltz without being an outright spoiler  
Feedback: yes please, especially if you have a problem with it. I'll never grow as a writer if I'm never told ways to improve....  
Notes: Sheesh that was a long introduction. Wow. First fic in a long while, be kind. From Duo's perspective.

Hell

Hell is watching him from across the room, wanting, and not daring to touch.

Hell is seeing his dark eyes shine with a brilliant gleam, and not having the courage to look straight into them for fear of him seeing the truth so carefully hidden within. 

Hell is aching at the sight of his feline grace, and knowing he could never love someone so clumsy, so careless.

Hell is hearing his voice, and the crushing realization that the desired words of affection will never come from him, that there will never be anything but derision for the one who longs for them. 

Hell is seeing his beautiful hands, the long graceful fingers, desiring their gentle touch and being certain that it will never come.

Hell is seeing him fight, and never being able to match his dedication or courage.

Hell is understanding and sharing the disdain that is the only emotion offered, when any are offered at all. 

Hell is being called "Baka," and "Onna," and "Maxwell," and wishing, just once, that it could be the name Duo falling off of perfect dusky lips.

Hell is being ignored or disregarded by the only person from whom attention is most wanted.

Hell is seeing a war end, and being separated from the person from whom continued contact is as necessary as breathing.

Hell is returning to war, finding that love an enemy, and having to work to oppose him.

Hell is returning to an unwanted business, with an unwanted admirer as the only companions in life.

Hell is coming home to a bare apartment that is untouched by love, or caring.

Hell is feeling a profound, bone-deep loneliness that cannot be abated, even after years.

Hell is picking up people in bars, becoming a whore again in all but profession, just to feel wanted, needed for a while.

Hell is doing that once or twice a night before sleep will come, and then trying not to acknowledge that showers take so long because it feels as if the filth is inside, as well as out.

Hell is staring at the night sky, wondering where he is, what he is doing, how happy he is, who he misses (if anyone).

Hell is knowing that he would be revolted by the sleazy, pathetic, weak lifestyle that has taken over.

Hell is spending entire years that way.

Hell is the coldness and fear that is felt after getting a phone call from a nameless hospital, being told that he is terminal, and that his request for one last specific visitor has been made.

Hell is being on a shuttle, praying to a forgotten God that there will still be something besides a body there upon arrival. 

Hell is seeing the waste that was once a vibrant young man, willful and spirited, now weak.

Hell is remembering the fire that sparked in his eyes when he saw who was sitting beside his bed. 

Hell is holding his hand, bronze skin pale with sickness, and hearing his deathbed confession of love. 

Hell is watching his tears slip from black eyes across once rounded, but now gaunt cheeks and onto the sheets as he tells how he kept feelings hidden for fear of rejection, of overwhelming feelings of being unworthy of love, respect or consideration, especially from one so bright, so dear. 

Hell is looking into his tired, sad eyes and seeing truth, and a kindred soul.

Hell is the unfairness of knowing that years were wasted, and only knowing at the end that the single bright person in a dark life felt the same.

Hell is sharing one tender kiss, merely a brushing of lips, before those same beloved eyes are closed forever, before the last sigh flees from his ravaged body.

Hell is knowing that there will not be another that holds the same allure, ever.

Hell is forcing a world-weary soul to go on another day, knowing that there will be no one to tell about joy and sorrow, no one to greet at the end of a long day, no one to share life with.

Hell is visiting his grave, time after time, each time desperately daring the gravestone to say a different name, a name not beloved, wanting to erase the "Chang Wufei" engraved in the stone. 

Hell is knowing that with one word, things could have been vastly different, lives so much sweeter for the presence of that one other person.

This is my hell, and the only life I know.


End file.
